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Late December
Fukuoka Christmas Market, JR Hakata Station Plaza
Not once in a blue moon, but close enough. That's the odds of a White Christmas in Fukuoka. Kyuushuu winters being mild, it rarely ever snows; rarer still that it occur as early as December.
So when the first few snowflakes come drifting down Hakata Station Plaza in the early evening of the 24th, on the second to the last day of this year's Fukuoka Christmas Market, the event is met by all those present with no small amount of awe.
“Well, I'll be,” one such denizen, Zenji Banba, drawls, watching one such featherlight flake's fluttery descent on his steaming mug of mulled wine. “Looks like we're gettin' a White Christmas this year, after all.”
“If this keeps up 'til tomorrow, anyway,” qualifies the person walking next to him, Xianming Lin. Absently the younger man adjusts the crimson muffler around his own throat, just above the collar of his sage green double-breasted winter coat. Beneath it, he's wearing a cream-colored Aran dress, black tights, and fawn fur-lined boots. Perfect clothing for the especially chilly weather, and fashionable, too.
Banba, on the other hand, is still in his usual jeans, wingtips, and loose off-white sweater, albeit with the wide collar turned up in grudging concession to the cold. “I reckon it would,” the man intones with a cheery nod. “Maybe enough so we could build a snowman! Or play snow baseball, even!”
“How do you play 'snow baseball'?” Lin couldn't help but ask. “You what, bat around snowballs or something?”
“Got it in one.” Banba gives him a thumbs-up. “It's tricky but lotsa fun. Ya gotta be careful not to smash the ball to smithereens, see, or it's an automatic out.”
“Heh.” Lin's mouth purses as he imagines this bizarre setup. “Sounds like too much trouble, if you ask me.”
“It makes for excellent practice,” Banba defends. “And as I've said, it's fun.”
“I guess,” Lin evenly returns, not really buying into it. He would always associate snow with unforgiving winters back in his farming village in China; with one particular winter, over a decade ago now, when he'd made the resolve to sell himself so that his mother and Qiaomei could survive. Snow could only be 'fun', so that time had taught him, with hot food, warm clothes, and central heating.
Not unlike right now, in fact.
So thinking, Lin sweeps a glance at his current surroundings. Enveiled in the many, many lights strung up to look like snowflakes and stars, the Fukuoka Christmas Market in front of JR Hakata Station is evocative of the European Christmas markets it was inspired by, touting treats and tantalizing trinkets from hot chocolate to handcrafted reindeer hide rugs.
Including hot wine, Banba's drink of choice, as peddled by one of the stalls nearest to the giant white 'candle tree' in the middle of the square. Spiced with cloves, ginger and lemon rinds, and mint and apple slices, the rich amber liquid is every bit as festive as the Christmas tree-patterned collectible mug it has been poured into. With Lin looking on, the taller man takes a healthy swig of the brew.
“That hits the spot,” declares Banba afterward, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “You sure you don't want any, Lin-chan?”
“I'd like to try all the food first,” Lin replies. Besides, so far as yuletide beverages went, he'd much prefer hot chocolate with a shot of rum instead. “Like those spiral sausages from Germany, and—oh!—cheese steak!” Having spotted the stall selling the latter, Lin excitedly grabs Banba's arm and pulls him along towards it.
***
“Here you go; thank you for your business!” Santa hat slightly askew but smile firmly in place, Kazuki Saitoh finishes serving up yet another order of steamed potatoes and steak liberally topped with melted cheese. He then turns to address the next customer in line: a tall, blond, pale-skinned young man wearing glasses and a blue-grey parka. A foreigner? “Welcome! How—”
“Cheese steak. Just-one-order-to-go,” said young man interjects in a mix of English and stilted Japanese. And then, thrown almost like an afterthought: “Please.”
“Er—yes, coming right up.” Saitoh, not quite used to foreign tourists even after several months in the service industry, gives a flustered nod. He doesn't even bother with the follow-ups (he's learned to gauge when 'Will there be anything else?' would not be particularly well received, at least), electing instead to go right into preparing the customer's order.
He's just about to put the cheese sauce onto the steak and potatoes when the blond man speaks again.
“Sumo-mah-sen, excuse me?”
Looking back up, Saitoh replies, “Y-yes?”
In lieu of talking, the customer holds up a smartphone. On the screen is a photo of—
“Santa...?” Saitoh says, blinking slowly.
For it is a picture of a life-sized statue of St. Nick: white of beard, plump of build, and jolly of face; still Santa Claus, yes, but different. Instead of the iconic red suit, the Santa in the photo is sporting a Hawaiian shirt and hiking shorts while standing next to an upright surfboard.
“Surfer Santa, where?” inquires the foreigner. Behind the glasses, Saitoh notes that the man's eyes are a startling pale green. “I must find in Christmas market, but cannot see at all. Where?”
'Christmas market'? At the words, everything clicks into place for Saitoh. “Ah, the Surfer Santa isn't here,” he politely informs the customer. “You must go to the Christmas market in Tenjin, sir.”
“'Ten-jin'?”
“Yes,” Saitoh nods, “in front of city hall. That's where there are a hundred different Santas on display.”
The blond man frowns, appearing to consider this. “Thank you,” he carefully utters after a moment. “But I am looking for Surfer Santa, not 'Ten-jin'. So, where—?”
“Your Surfer Santa isn't here; it's at the Tenjin Christmas Market in Fureai Plaza,” a new voice—familiar, for all that its owner is speaking in English—cuts in. “That's next to city hall in the west side of Tenjin district,” Xianming Lin goes on, approaching the counter with Banba following behind. He further adds that the information on how to get there should be available on the official Christmas market website.
“I see,” the bespectacled blond exclaims, and slaps his own forehead. “Damn it, it seems I've messed up, then. Sorry,” he tells Saitoh, bowing slightly, while to Lin he says, “Thanks!”
***
“Really, thanks,” Saitoh echoes once the customer has departed—presumably for Tenjin—with his order. “You're a life-saver, Lin-san.”
“Yep, and pretty damn cool, too,” Banba chimes in. “Must be nice, knowin' a bunch of languages.”
“It's only English,” Lin shrugs off (never mind that he'd spoken it with an accent, to be perfectly honest, and that he'd struggled with learning it over Japanese at the Factory). “But if you're feeling so grateful, I wouldn't mind getting some cheese steak for free.”
Saitoh rubs at the back his neck. “W-well, that's a bit—”
“Oh, I'll treat ya to a couple; how does that sound?” Banba intercedes.
Awesome. If only to keep his dignity, however, Lin clears his throat and answers, “I'm not opposed to it.” It is his policy never to waste food, after all; even more so if it's free.
And even more so if it's a double helping of tender steamed potatoes and juicy, marbled sirloin roast drenched in a decadently creamy sauce of mozzarella, parmesan, gorgonzola, and robiola cheese. Mentally crossing off 'cheese steak' from the list of foods he's yet to try, Lin happily devours the savory treat. Delicious.
Banba seems to think so, too. “I didn't know meat and potatoes could taste this good,” the private eye enthuses. “'Though I'd suggest adding mentaiko to the sauce, to improve the flavor.”
Saitoh sweatdrops. “I'll... take that under consideration, Banba-san.”
“Tch, talking like you're some food expert,” Lin gripes, shaking his head. “Don't listen to the mentaiko addict, Saitoh. This—” He nods at the remaining bits of cheese steak in his paper cup, “—is perfection.”
“So is spicy pollock roe!” Banba argues, indignant. “Which is why they'd go great together!”
“My, everyone's looking lively.”
“Jiroh-san!”
Jiroh Tanaka strides over to the cheese steak stall, giving Saitoh, Lin and Banba a little wave and lilting, “Good evening.”
“It sure is,” Banba replies. “Here for a job, Jiroh-yan?”
“Oh, not at the moment, thank goodness.” So saying, Jiroh retrieves something from his shirtpocket and presents it to them.
“An... invitation card?” Lin says, peering at the multi-colored chicken scrawl on the slip of paper. It's for one of the acts lined up on the 'music stage' portion of the plaza erected just off of the stalls.
“Yes!” Jiroh beams, face aglow with parental pride. “Misaki-chan's doing another show with her friend, see? The one who taught her how to juggle?”
“That clown, you mean?” After some effort, Lin manages to read the rest of the invite somewhat. “Hey, it says here they'll be on at seven. That's what, five, ten minutes from now?”
“Then we better hurry,” Banba enjoins, nodding at Jiroh.
Lin quirks an eyebrow. “'We'?”
***
“We made it on time, thankfully,” Jiroh proclaims, breathing a sigh of relief. Even from the back of the designated seating area, they've got a good view of the music stage, which is set up directly facing an array of trees decorated with even more Christmas lights. At the moment, the steady drift of snow has stopped, but the illuminations made the frost it left behind sparkle like so many jewels among the branches and leaves. “Look, there's Misaki-chan! Isn't she just darling in her outfit?”
Lin follows Jiroh's gaze to find a little girl onstage—Misaki?—in motley red, white and black clown costume, complete with fake bulbous red nose and thick makeup. Standing next to her is a young man—Meque?—decked out similarly, but with a black bowler hat. Between them, the two appear to be juggling various colored glass balls while a five-person band called 'Tri4th' played a jazzy instrumental rendition of Jingle Bells.
“Those are some awesome moves,” Banba remarks, watching the balls spin and twirl in rapid succession between Meque's and Misaki's hands, seamlessly separating into two sets as the duo takes mincing steps away from each other until both are juggling half a dozen balls on their own. “Hm, and they're the size of baseballs, too, seems like.”
Lin gives Banba a look. “Don't tell me you want to add juggling exercises to our weekly practice.”
Banba grins. “Why not?”
“Oh my, so talented and cute!” Even while busily recording the performance with his smartphone, Jiroh manages to also clap and cheer for his adopted child. “Over here, sweetie! Misaki-chan!”
“We're too far; I don't think she can hear you,” Lin points out wryly.
“Then I reckon we just gotta holler louder, don't we?” Banba rejoins. Cupping both hands in front of his mouth, he proceeds to do as such. “Heya, Misaki-chan! We're all rootin' for ya!”
Lin sweatdrops. “Oi, oi, you're just gonna embarrass her. And us.” Most definitely us.
“It's fine,” Jiroh says, cheerfully following Banba's lead. “Go, Misaki-chan~! You're the best!”
Whether Misaki hears it or not, however, the girl gives no indication. As Jingle Bells winds down to its saxophone-laden finale, Meque takes off and tosses his bowler hat into the air along with the balls, then takes a sweeping bow. Without looking, the clown then alternately catches the items as they each come tumbling down, the hat falling last, which lands upside-down on Meque's outstretched palm as he straightens up. A white dove flies out of the hat a moment later. Misaki soon does much of the same, doing a dainty little curtsy and conjuring a bouquet of flowers from the sleeves of her outfit. Their adoring audience applauds, even more so when she volleys the bouquet their way.
As it turns out, she did see and hear Banba and Jiroh's overenthusiastic show of support.
“It's distracting, and bothers the other people watching,” Misaki scolds backstage, glaring with all the righteous authority of an elementary school student.
“But it's okay,” the clown behind her declares, evidently trying to calm her down. “Learning how not to get distracted is part of Meque's job.”
Lin himself would've crowed, “See? I told you so,” to Banba, but then Misaki's gaze softens, and a smile graces her face.
“Even so,” the child appends, shy yet earnest, “thank you, Zen-chan. Jiroh-chan.”
Jiroh tears up. “Misaki-chan!”
As her avenger parent reaches out to give her a hug, Lin squares his arms. “Hey, where's my 'thank you'?”
“Why should I give you one?” is Misaki's rhetorical rejoinder. “You didn't cheer for me, did you?”
Touche. Biting the inside of his cheek, Lin shakes his head and says, “You are so uncute right now, squirt.”
Misaki smirks. “Right back at ya.”
***
They're on their way back to the stalls, having parted ways with the Tanakas, when Lin's phone buzzes.
“'Sup, 'Shroom?”
“Sorry if I'm interrupting your date with Banba-san, Lin-kun.” Enokida's tone is cheerfully unapologetic.
“We're not—it's not like—” Lin sputters. “What the hell do you want, anyway?”
“Glad you asked!” the damned information broker returns. “See, I'm a bit tied up at the moment, so I can't get to the Christmas market in person tonight. That's where you and Banba-san come in.”
Lin's eyes narrow. “How so?”
“A house,” Enokida enigmatically answers back. “I need you guys to buy one for me.”
A miniature ceramic house, to be more precise, currently being sold at the 'Unikalus Vaizdas' stall.
“In some European countries, it's a gift for married couples,” the helpful shopkeeper explains to Banba and Lin. “You light a small candle and place it inside the house. It symbolizes the enduring warmth of home.”
“I see.” Banba nods appreciatively. “Well, how about it, Lin-chan?” the man goes on, looping an arm around Lin's waist. “Ain't having one of these just be perfect for our place?”
“... I guess,” Lin replies, feeling warmth fill his face. We're just putting on an act, he reminds himself sternly. It doesn't really mean anything.
Quickly, he checks the photo of the ceramic house Enokida has requested them to purchase: a simple two-story affair of yellow brick siding, mullioned windows and orange-red roof tiles. In keeping with the season, a wreath of holly could be seen decorating the house's tiny front door. Lin looks back at the ceramic houses on display, finding one that is the exact match of the one in the picture. Pointing to it, he tells both Banba and the seller, “I think I like that one.”
“Excellent choice, miss!” the seller trills. “Shall we giftwrap it for you? Of course, every purchase comes with a complimentary scented candle!”
Lin doesn't actually care either way, but Banba gives an enthusiastic “Cool, that should make it extra-special!” The miniature house—with their free vanilla and peppermint-scented candle inside it—is duly bought, boxed, and bundled up in tinsel and gilt. Banba and Lin would thereafter text Enokida that their errand is complete.
“Whatever is Enokida-kun gonna do with this, anyhow?” Banba wonders aloud, holding up the smartly wrapped parcel.
“Decorate his net café workstation with it?” Lin shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
When Izayuke Wakataka Gundan blares from Banba's old flip phone, they are shortly given an answer.
“You want us to light it for ya?” Banba repeats, blinking befuddled at the request. “Right this moment?”
“Something interesting will happen,” Lin could hear Enokida reply on the other line. “That is, if my little theory is correct.”
“The 'Shroom and his weird 'little theories',” Lin gripes.
Back to the benches they go to unwrap the package. Banba lights the candle inside the ceramic house using a lighter he typically has on hand.
They don't have to wait long for Enokida's 'something interesting' to transpire. Almost immediately, burnt reddish-brown English letters appear along the house's upper façade, darkening and growing more defined as the candle flame heats it from within.
“'Home is where the heart is,'” Lin reads aloud.
“Oh, I think I get that one!” Banba says. “'Home runs could only be scored from the heart,' is what it's gotta mean, don't it?”
“Not everything has to be about baseball, Ban-baka,” Lin chides, face-palming. “'Home is always in one's heart.' That's what it means.”
“Heh.” Banba appears to think it through. “Even so, I kinda like my take on it more.”
Lin stifles a smile with a sigh. “You would.”
Just as Lin is sure the 'Shroom would be obnoxiously pleased to know that his so-called theory is correct.
“Of course I'm right; thanks for reinforcing what's obvious,” Enokida does, indeed, smugly intone when they call him. “Oh, and you and Banba-san can keep the house. Think of it as my Yuletide present for you two.”
Recalling what the shopkeeper told them earlier, Lin blushes. “We don't need—”
But the informant has already hung up.
***
I mean, seriously, Lin denies, not for the first time in the last couple of hours, it's not like we're really married or anything.
Right?
Right, he decisively insists. He's drowned his troubles since in roast chicken, cake, and almost-too-cute-to-eat Christmas candies, and in purchasing such absolutely necessary essentials as loden wool stockings, mittens, and a hand-embroidered velveteen purse. Banba, for all the taller man's complaining, had accompanied him all the way.
(Which again doesn't mean anything, Lin's mind is quick to reason out, except that Banba is a contradictory moron.)
“Achoo!”
Case in point.
“I told you we should've gotten you that scarf,” Lin says.
“I'm fine!” Swiftly recovering from his sneezing fit, Banba raises his armful of shopping bags in assurance. “Men of Kyuushuu don't need winterwear.”
“Only if men of Kyuushuu are fools, and can't catch colds,” Lin evenly replies. “Although I guess that's redundant with you.”
Banba pouts. “You could be so mean, Lin-chan.”
“I know.” He takes off his own crimson muffler and, taking care not to think too much about it, wraps it securely around the other man's neck. “There,” Lin utters once he's done. “So you don't freeze to death.”
“Aw, thanks.” Banba's smile is warm. “Merry Christmas, Lin.”
Lin smiles back. “Merry Christmas.”
~ The End ~